


How's the Wait for Death, Mr. Jones?

by SHeRLY MiNT BUNnY (madamboast_alot)



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Prison AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamboast_alot/pseuds/SHeRLY%20MiNT%20BUNnY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cell Block D.<br/>Most prisoners believed it to stand for “death row.” <br/>Alfred like to believe it stood for dangerous, maybe even devilishly handsome. <br/>Arthur always told him it stood for “Daft idiot”</p>
            </blockquote>





	How's the Wait for Death, Mr. Jones?

He was never fond of the fact his boots clicked on the hard, uneven cobblestone of the hall. The out of time ‘Taps’ where like announcing to a lion pray was nearby. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of himself. Being well armed both with weapons (he was one of the only officers to carry a gun) and tactics put his mind at ease. Only slightly. His white gloved fists where at his side, swinging lightly to the beat of his purposeful walking pace down the unlit walkway.   
“They really should fix the bloody lighting down here” He mumbled to no one in particular through gritted teeth. “It’s highly unsafe” The constant, repetitive clicking of his shoe that bounced off the wall came to an abrupt halt, leaving the flickering lights on their last leg fill the silence.

 Cell block D.

Most prisoners believed it to stand for “death row” Alfred like to believe it stood for dangerous, maybe even devilishly handsome. Arthur always told him it stood for “Daft idiot” Arthur’s visits were always brief.   
Promptly on Monday morning’s before the sun had even managed to wake up itself, Arthur’s tapping shoes could be heard down the cobble stoned path way that lead in to the dank cell block.   
Maybe that’s what it stood for.   
Dank.   
The other cell blocks where sterile, like they were deep cleaned to keep out any evil. With algae rooting itself in to the worn down, growing in the remnants of the priors week’s rain, dripping through the poor irrigation and uneven stone floor, it seemed as if there was no use in trying to clean that much evil out for a group that had landed them self on death row.

Arthur would rap his white glove across the iron bars of the cell. His greeting was always the same “How’s the wait for death Mr. Jones” He was always so snide about it, a smirk easily creeping on to his face with every word.   
Alfred would always answer in different ways.   
“Boring like usual”   
“I dunno wanna try it out and tell me?”  
“Very fun actually. You’re missing out Artie”   
And with every witty comment, would follow his signature grin. Teeth gleaming in the few ray of light that made their way through the window, a glare cast over his glasses, turning his eyes white.   
And in response to this, he would always get a scowl. Large brow arched as if to ask “are you done making a fool of yourself?” Green eyes clearly showing discontent with the whole situation, lips pierced together, thick brows moving down his face, completing the scowl.  
“Well it looks like you’ll have to wait another week Mr. Jones”  
Alfred’s answers where somewhere between a halfhearted “ Whoppie” to “ Looks like you’re stuck with me for a little longer eh?”

 

Just like every Monday morning, at 7:00 sharp, the tapping could be heard reverberating down the close quarters of the hall. The pace usually about the same the tempo of the Beetles ‘Michelle Ma Belle’ had changed itself to ‘Help’. He never walked that quickly. If anything his pace would slow down, stopping at the cells ahead of him, to deliver the same news. But the clicks never stopped, it kept coming, faster and faster. Alfred could have sworn by how quickly they had sped up, Arthur was running.   
Before he knew it, Arthur was at the rusted iron bars, tapping his knuckle to the bar. His hat had been removed, and held under his right arm. Arthur hair had managed to become the definition of hat hair. Stray strands where sticking up in the oddest places, messily tangling with themselves   
“How’s the wait for death Mr. Jones” Arthur started his brow furling slightly inward. Alfred had always wondered how he put up with those massive eyebrows. They looked like tiny furry caterpillars that had crawled on to his face and died. He had always wondered if Arthur grew a mustache, would it look like his incredibly huge brow?   
“Getting a little tired of waiting, maybe I’ll take a nap” Alfred said, kicking back on the old cot, crossing his ankles, and setting his arms behind his head. He huffed a sigh with the intent of moving a piece of hair of his eyes, but it didn’t work well.  
“I guess that’s good to hear, because your execution is scheduled for Wednesday”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I should add more to this. I sort of like it as is  
> As always, feedback is always appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading!


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